Sherlolly
by Kataraang0
Summary: Poems and drabbles and such. The first chapter alternates between Sherlock and Molly and Sherlock and John, just fyi.
1. Chapter 1

**Sherlolly – Now isn't that fun to say?**

"Hello, Molly. Can we see Ned Pauling?"

"Why do you do that, Sherlock?"

"No."

"Do what?"

"Your hair looks very nice today, Molly."

"You only give Molly compliments when you want something from her."

"That's not going to work, Sherlock."

"Really? I didn't notice."

"Having a bad day?"

"Of course not, Sherlock."

"No. You need paperwork."

"Well, the compliments are quite sincere, John."

"You've never asked about paperwork before."

"That seems quite out of character for you."

"It's standard procedure."

"It's my way of showing appreciation."

"All right, then."

"I think you're just using her."

"To save you time, I've already checked the body."

"Why would I do that?"

"Oh?"

"You have no emotions."

"It was poison."

"Of course I do, John. I just have a particular entourage that I choose to have genuine concern for."

"What kind of poison?"

"I still don't believe you. Not about Molly."

"Saxitoxin."

"I'll prove it."

"Thanks, Molly!"

"Go ahead."

"Y-You're welcome."

"I love her."

X


	2. Chapter 2

**Song Meme**

Listen to iTunes on shuffle and write a drabble for the duration of the song. 10 songs.

**1. Suddenly – Tobymac**

The music on the radio was far too happy for the circumstances.

He and John were on a case and, apparently, though Sherlock didn't care, Sarah and John had had a row.

Sherlock sighed. Emotions were so...complicated.

Frankly, he didn't understand them.

He didn't understand, for instance, he thought, _extremely_ randomly, how and why he felt anything towards a certain Molly Hooper.

That's where they were going. Bart's morgue.

At the morgue, Molly made a very good point.

It was brilliant, in fact.

Sherlock turned to her, said so, and kissed her.

Crap.

Why did he do that?

They stared at each other for a moment. Suddenly, Sherlock didn't mind his attachment to Molly. But, he didn't want her to know (how childish) so he and John left as quickly as possible.

Molly stared after them, feeling grateful that she had continued to believe in Sherlock.

**2. The Wedding Celebration – Fiddler on the Roof**

A Jewish wedding. How unfortunate for the bride that her groom should die on that day.

It didn't matter to Sherlock at all. He was simply here to do his work.

He examined everything, played out the celebration in his mind.

It had been the best man. He was sure of it.

The best man had been jealous. He'd had a poison and killed the groom by putting it into his wine. Unfortunately for the best man, the bride was not at all interested.

And, although Sherlock's experience in romance was very slim, that probably wasn't the best way to win a girl's heart to begin with.

Tumult had reigned once the groom's face fell onto his plate, stone cold dead.

There was so much to further investigate here. Sherlock felt his adrenaline begin to rush as he realized who was behind all of it.

Moriarty.

**3. It Is You (I Have Loved) – Diana Glover**

John felt bad for Molly. He wondered if she even realized that Sherlock didn't care.

John had never thought Molly to be stupid, but then he had never seen her really work, so he wouldn't know either way.

John glanced at Sherlock as he asked Molly for an autopsy privilege. John squinted, then blinked. Wait a moment. Had he seen actual emotion pass Sherlock's face?

The detective seemed nervous. So did Molly. Then again, Molly always seemed nervous around Sherlock.

Oh, John thought, it could be about last time.

Then he shook his head. No. Sherlock wouldn't care.

Would he?

John left the room for a moment. When he returned, the two people in the lab were smiling at each other. Sherlock reached out his hand and Molly shook it.

"What's up? I'm not interrupting something, am I?"

"No. John, you have a date on Saturday, right?"

**4. Clocks - Coldplay**

It had been a fairly dull day until John suggested the theatre.

Not Sherlock, John.

It had surprised Sherlock, but he was grateful because he enjoyed the theatre.

The play was interesting, and the actors did fabulously.

Molly was in it. She was one of the main characters.

Now, that was the most surprising thing Sherlock had seen that day.

He wasn't aware that she could sing. That she could act. That she did anything but slice up cadavers.

She did fantastic.

Sherlock, through his Sherlockish ways, got backstage and told her that she did very well.

Molly blushed and thanked him.

John had rushed out during intermission and bought a bouquet, and Sherlock presented it to her.

Molly's cheeks reddened (which hadn't seemed possible, but apparently was). Sherlock smiled and thought about giving her a hug or kiss on the cheek.

How childish and idealistically romantic. It was truly revolting.

Sherlock kept his hands clasped behind his back, cleared his throat and he and John walked back to Baker Street.

Molly tried hard to not let the flowers wilt.

**5. Beautiful One – By The Tree**

Sherlock and John were in a church.

It wasn't the first time Sherlock had been to church.

He went quite often when he was younger.

Molly had actually reintroduced it to him when John had been deployed (again) and it had been nice.

Still, he felt, once again, out of place and...small.

God was very, very big. A very big concept and a very big...God.

Yes, Sherlock decided, he did believe in a God.

He was...as said before, big. And amazing. And confusing. Sherlock could not figure Him out.

But that was fine.

It kept Sherlock believing.

He glanced at John, his best friend, who was looking very bored staring at the intricate stain glass windows.

Sherlock felt slightly offended that John wasn't giving God His deserving time, so he nudged him.

John looked at him quite surprised that he cared at all about church.

Still, John paid attention for the rest of the service.

Sherlock smiled.

**6. My Beloved Monster – The Eels**

Sherlock remembered Irene. He hadn't _really _liked her. She was simply...interesting.

Okay, he had liked her. A little bit. She was nice to him sometimes.

That had to count for something.

She was certainly an entertaining person.

He smiled thinking about how her embraces and kisses felt. She was always in control.

It was slightly annoying. Sherlock hated not being in control. However, it was okay with Irene.

Besides, every time he got control, it made him feel even better.

**7. In Too Deep – Sum41**

He was always getting John into death defying circumstances.

It couldn't be helped.

It was fun besides.

He and John both thought so.

It was refreshing and entertaining.

Sherlock was always confused when, in between these circumstances, John would be mad at him for the simplest things. They were so trivial. Who cared?

John did.

Sherlock sighed.

If John cared, then Sherlock would be ever so slightly concerned.

God dammit.

Sherlock hated being concerned. It was a mistake that he told himself he would never make.

Maybe...maybe he should try to stay away from John. John made him _feel_. It felt wrong.

Sherlock shook his head. That was the most preposterous thing he had ever thought. Everyone agreed that John was a fantastic companion and Sherlock certainly didn't mind having him around.

He thought he might give him a hug the next time he saw him.

**8. The Little Things Give You Away – Linkin Park**

Water was seeping in through the door. It was just about to pour in from the windows.

Who knew floods could be so terrifying?

Sherlock wasn't anywhere nearby.

No one was.

Molly lived alone, except for Toby. She clutched her poor cat close to her. He was scratching her, trying desperately to get to the very top of her head, as far from the wet water as possible.

Molly's tears were not helping the situation, either.

They simply added to the sea of water on the floor.

The rain didn't even sound like rain anymore. It was a constant flow of sheets of water.

Molly rushed up her stairs, but the water followed her. Her tears did not stop. She slipped, Toby flying from her hands and landing on his side at the top of the stairs.

Molly had not realized how strong the water's current was. She was sucked under, her furniture swirling about her. She swam out of the way of her coffee table, trying to find the top of the water.

Her lamp from her bedside table passed by her upside down and she had the notion that _she_ might be upside down, which did not make matters any better.

Her chest was hurting. Terribly. She needed air. She felt like she was about to scream out in a sob, but she suppressed the urge, as it would most assuredly not help the situation.

She was still crying, although no one would be able to tell.

Her vision blacked out.

The next thing she knew, she was floating down the street on someone's grandfather clock, Sherlock's arm around her shoulder.

**9. Mamma Look Sharp – 1776**

John could still remember when he had been shot.

He could sometimes feel the pain in his shoulder. It was a slight throbbing that happened only during exceptionally bad weather.

When he felt the throb, it would remind him of some of the soldiers he had cared for in Afghanistan.

Soldiers. Men. Women. Boys.

The boys were probably the saddest cases. They were so young. None of the soldiers were under eighteen, but John had helped some civilians as well, who were definitely younger.

Once, he had seen a boy, flat on his back, under the shade of a tree, staring up at the sky in the midst of battle. What in the world was he doing?

John yelled at him to get up and fight.

The boy did not respond.

John ran closer and knelt beside him.

It was then that he realized the boy's eyes were glazed over and he was smiling most disconcertingly considering the situation.

John gasped, then leapt to his feet as a bullet flew past him and another one just grazed his leg.

The army doctor limped away as fast as his wounded leg would carry him, leaving the dead boy in his eerie contentedness.

**10. Valentine's Day – Linkin Park**

Sherlock did not understand. He could not comprehend his failure. Next time, he would bring John with him.

But then, perhaps that was a bad idea as well, considering that Sherlock had put John through quite enough. And Sherlock was not exceptionally eager to lose another friend.

Yes, unbeknownst to most everyone, Sherlock had considered Molly a friend.

He was most certain that Molly herself had not even been aware of the fact, except for certain recent events in which he told her she was brilliant and never, ever referred back to when conversing with anyone, including John.

_ Well, _Sherlock thought, _this is..._

He could not finish his sentence. He could not find the words. Or rather, he found far too many _emotional _words.

Sherlock felt something wet slide down his cheek. He looked up. The sky was quite dark. He turned to John and asked, in a rather husky voice, "Did you feel a raindrop?"

John shook his head.

"Do you think it is going to rain?"

Sherlock waited for John to look up at the sky, but his friend was now concentrating on his face.

"What?" Sherlock asked as he raised a hand to his cheek. "Oh," he breathed, almost inaudibly.

He then walked briskly away from the cemetery towards the woods beyond with as much suave as he could muster. Another tear slid down his cheek.

**Well, that was adepressing way to end the random OOC-ness of this meme drabble. I forgot to tell you all that I went and saw _Frankenstein _at the NT. Benedict was the Creature and ! Anyways. Also, for anyone curious, I have a deviantart and an account on Noteflight (under the same name, of course) and on Noteflight I wrote some arrangements of the BBC Sherlock songs. Just fyi. **

**TTFN!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Homecoming**

"It's alright, Sarah." Molly murmured, handing the woman yet another tissue. "I'm sure the police will find them."

"It's been a week, Molly!" Sarah choked into her handkerchief, "A whole *hiccup* week! How can we even expect them to be alive by this point?"

_I don't._ Molly thought grimly. She wouldn't say it out loud because Sarah's cries of despair were so melodramatic; Molly knew hope rested just underneath them.

The women were sitting in the ER at St. Bart's, wondering, hoping, that the police would be kind enough to bring their friends home.

Sarah sniffed and aggressively threw her dirty tissue on the table. Molly was about to hand her another one when she held up her hand. "No. I won't. I can't. I can't cry anymore."

Molly smiled slightly at her friend. No tears slid down Molly's cheeks. She was just as worried about Sherlock as Sarah was about John, but Molly had been through so much already.

The sound of the door opening brought Sarah to her feet. Her face fell and she made a loud thump falling back into her chair. It wasn't John.

Sarah hiccupped again. Molly sighed. She was going to put her head down on her arms when Sarah's head shot up again. Molly wearily looked towards the door. And froze.

She and Sarah stood up faster than lightning. The boys were back. They looked awful, but neither of them was unconscious and they were walking on their own. After what seemed like forever, Inspector Lestrade pushed the door open and Sherlock and John came traipsing through.

Sarah ran up to John, throwing her arms around his neck. Her tears were falling again.

Molly jolted forward. But stopped. She wrung her hands and looked down, then looked back up almost in the same instant.

Sherlock was staring at her. It was then that she noticed his dirt smeared face and the rips on his coat. She felt her eyes water.

There was an uncertain pause, then Sherlock jerked his head, signalling Molly to come closer.

She took two steps forward, then stopped, unsure if that was his command.

Sherlock jerked his head again.

Molly walked slowly to stand in front of him.

He took his hands out of his pockets and extended his arms slightly, his palms facing up.

Molly hesitated for only an instant; this might be her only opportunity after all. She wrapped her arms around Sherlock's middle. She coughed, closed her eyes, and spilled tears on his shirt. Sherlock held her close, glad, for once, for the exchange of comfort.

**So, yeah. This is my fluffy present for my readers for being so patient with me and my nonprogressive story, Unremembered. I liked the idea of John coming back and Sarah running to hug him, but then no one to hug Sherlock. I think deep down inside, Sherlock would feel left out. And, of course, the first person who comes to mind that I would love for to hug Sherlock is Molly. They would both really need comfort in that moment, especially if Molly realises by then that Jim is the world's most evil psychopath. I think this little segment could come before Unremembered. It seems like it would fit.**


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock looked up from the microscope.

"Do be careful, Molly. Hydrochloric acid has a very low pH."

Molly extended her arm high above her head, standing on top of a chair that was leaning precariously against the counter.

"I know." she answered, "I'm not getting hydrochloric acid."

"Nitric acid has a low pH, too."

Molly grunted and stretched farther, "I know that, Sherlock."

"You're in a precarious position."

"I know."

"So be careful."

It was quiet for a moment. Sherlock glanced down at the microscope, dubbing it not as interesting as originally intended. He looked up quickly as Molly let out an exclamation of triumph, having attained her chemical solution. Molly turned the small vial around in her hand, wobbling slightly as she did so. Yes, this was the right one. She half-stepped back in an attempt to get down from the chair. This made her shake dangerously. Before she knew it, she was falling.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion. The bottle flew from Molly's hand, spilling on the floor. The acid burned her finger, but she couldn't scream. She didn't have time to. The angle at which she was descending was going to cause her head to hit the floor hard and possibly knock her unconscious, or worse. What a pathetic way to die that would be. And in front of –

Suddenly, strong arms caught her from behind. How in the world - ?

"I told you to be careful." Sherlock said gruffly.

Molly didn't say anything. Then she gasped as the pain from the acid burn set in.

Sherlock looked down at her, then at the chemical spill, then back at her.

"We're going to need to get this cleaned up."

Molly nodded and proceeded to stick her finger in the cool liquid of her mouth when Sherlock batted her hand away.

"Toxic." he warned.

He pulled her backwards off the fallen chair and helped her on her feet. He then took her burnt hand in his and led her to a sink. He turned the faucet on and brought her finger under the cool water.

"Stay here." he said, letting go of her hand. Molly blinked, still slightly stunned, and realized tears were sliding down her cheeks. She turned her head slightly and watched as Sherlock prudently cleaned the acid spill. He poured about a half-cup of water on the spill to neutralize it, then began to wash the floor with a soapy rag. His purple shirt tightened across his back as he moved his arm back and forth, scrubbing hard. Molly couldn't help but notice how strong his muscles were. She blushed and turned her attention back to the sink. She didn't hear Sherlock walk up behind her, coat in hand, after her muddle was cleaned up.

"I hope your finger is faring well."

Molly jumped, "Oh. Yeah. It's fine."

Sherlock stared at her, sensing that she wasn't telling the whole truth.

"I mean, it's been better. But it's fine."

Sherlock nodded slightly, "Good."

He placed his coat on the back of a tall chair near the sink and sat down. He watched the water pour over Molly's burnt finger.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting until you get back to work."

He cursed himself inwardly. Not because of his poor choice of words, but that his mother had raised him a gentleman and protocol required that he stay with his injured companion until she was fit or got suitable medical attention. The acid spill had been miniscule and didn't need a doctor's attention, or at least not a professional doctor. He and Molly combined certainly knew enough about chemistry that they had handled the situation.

Sherlock sighed. If he was honest with himself, he enjoyed spending time with Molly, but he had more important things to attend to. He was about to get up when Molly decided to tell him a surprisingly humourous anecdote about her cat Toby.

She finished a good ten minutes later and giggled with Sherlock about her feline's insatiable need to climb things, including her shower curtain rod.

"Thank you, by the way, for helping with that mess." Molly said, blushing slightly.

"Of course." Sherlock replied, "I'll be seeing you later I suppose."

Sherlock got up and started walking away, but stopped with his hand on the door knob. He turned back to Molly.

"Take care of yourself, Molly Hooper." he said, "I can't afford to lose my pathologist."

**I'm not the only person who forgets acids have low pH and bases have high pH, right? I just have to remind myself, H20.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapstick**

_I just don't see how anyone would enjoy pelting freezing slush at one another. The sting if it hit someone's face would be very agitating. The whole affair seems entirely uncomfortable._ Sherlock thinks, watching John Watson chuck snow at his fiancée, Mary Morstan, and their mutual friend, Molly Hooper.

_However, it would seem that they're enjoying themselves,_ he infers from his friends' happy expressions and amused laughter, when a rogue snowball hits him square in the face.

Molly Hooper looks mortified (pun intended), eyes wide, mouth agape, as she realises her grave miscalculation.

But then, it was totally worth it.

"Ha!" she yells triumphantly across the field, pointing a daring finger at the detective. _Shows you right, spoilsport!_

Sherlock blinks at her in surprise, the snow making his face numb. He shakes his head violently to get the awful stuff off and regain nerve function. He grins wickedly at his adversary, _She will pay!_

He makes a snowball and takes a few steps forward, narrowing the expanse of countryside between them. He launches it in Molly's direction, just missing, then tries again, running towards her.

Molly lets out a girlish shriek and laughs as she sprints away, snowballs assaulting her back.

She runs and runs and Sherlock throws and throws, and then she trips, her face landing in the snow.

Molly pulls up with a dense popping sound, laughing breathlessly. She hears Sherlock chuckle behind her, but it's only when she flips over that she realises how close behind her he is...having fallen on top of her. Molly's breath hitches as she stares at Sherlock's ambiguous expression. Only after he clears his throat, carefully gets up, and offers his hand to help bring her to her feet, does she realise that he was staring back just as embarrassed.

* * *

Walking to the pub, Mary and John entwine their gloved hands, resourcefully sharing body heat in the cold weather. Molly walks a distance behind them, Sherlock following on her heels.

The petite pathologist shivers, and Sherlock wonders if he should be a gentleman and lend her his coat. But then he realises that he's just as cold. He picks up his pace to walk next to his friend, sharing body heat while still maintaining a semblance of personal space. She glances at him, then looks away quickly, focusing her attention anywhere but on him. She looks to a tree in the distance when something catches her eye.

"Mary! John!" she calls, in almost a sing-song voice. John looks back to see her pointing above them. A cluster of white berries droops from the stiff branch of an ash tree.

John reddens slightly and calls back, "Mistletoe doesn't count if it's on a tree, Molly!"

"Well, why not?" Mary asks, nudging her beau. John tenses, slightly embarrassed, but then smiles at her flirtatiously and acquiesces, pressing his lips to hers.

"You know," Sherlock says, not averting his gaze from the couple, "Mistletoe is a parasite. Horrible for trees. Some people find it strange, then, that we've made a tradition of kissing under it. But it has to do with the Norse god, Baldur - "

The detective is cut off by Mary's giggle,"All right," she says, "Your turn."

Molly blushes the colour of a red rose, "B-but - " she protests, "I mean, you two are a couple! A-and it shouldn't count if it's on a tree. That's perfectly sensible, John!" she says his name accusingly, "Sherlock's practically asexual, anyway!" (The man makes no response.) "And besides that, it's just not...appropriate."

"Oh, come on! Show some holiday spirit!" John encourages them.

Molly's blush is deeper now as she hears Sherlock sigh.

"Might as well get it over with." he whispers to her, bringing his hand up to her cheek. She flinches - his hand is colder than her already freezing face. But at the same time, his touch burns like fire. As do his eyes. She groans internally as she realises she's now shivering uncontrollably. And her nose hurts and is probably runny. And her lips are...

Covered by Sherlock's, apparently.

She's about to revel in the fact that he's actually kissing her (Sherlock Holmes is actually kissing her! On the lips!) when it's over.

Makes sense, it was just a mistletoe kiss. Although something other than the brevity had felt off...

Sherlock pulls far away from her side, taking along his body heat. Molly clutches her chest, teeth chattering quietly, lips shaking. Then it hits her.

She turns to Sherlock, "Your lips are chapped."

By this time, they've caught up with John and Mary. The doctor laughs at Sherlock's incredulity and Molly smiles to herself as she hurries ahead of the group and into the warmth of the pub.

* * *

Sherlock sighs. Having removed his infamous jacket and scarf, he leans against the cushion back of the corner booth, purple shirt straining against his chest. Molly, having taken off her knitted hat and cotton gloves and sat next to him, tries desperately not to ogle.

"I'm going to get some drinks. Anything you'd like?" Mary asks the general company.

"I'd love some cocoa." Molly offers.

"Tea." John says as Sherlock responds, "Just tea for me, thanks."

"Tea for the gents, cocoa for the lady. Gotcha." Mary repeats, then goes to order the beverages.

John buzzes his lips, tired from the long train ride up to the country, the find of the inconspicuous castle which Sherlock deduced everything about before the tour had begun, the trek through the farming village (which had been fine until it had started to snow - heavily), the wait in the farmer's poorly ventilated cottage, and the exhilarating snowball fight on the way to the inn - the bottom floor of which serves as a quaint and well-heated pub.

"I'm off to the loo, then." the doctor announces, pushing back his chair.

Sherlock deftly reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a small cylinder. A tube of lip balm. Molly stills and can't help but stare out of the corner of her eye as he applies it. Rubbing his lips together, he proffers it to her.

"Oh." she says as she takes it, applying it to her finger first, knowing how meticulous Sherlock could be about hygiene, "Thanks."

Handing it back to him, Sherlock catches her wrist. He takes the lip balm from her with his free hand, placing it back in it's proper pocket, then tucks a piece of her long auburn hair behind her ear.

"Er...Sherlock, what are you - ?" But before Molly can finish her question, Sherlock kisses her the second time that day, only this go around is different. Far different because 1) they're inside and it's warm, 2) they've thawed off, 3) Molly's nose no longer aches and she's certain it's not running, 4) Sherlock had acted completely unprovoked, and 5) neither of them have chapped lips. After a long while, after Molly's eyes close, after Sherlock deepens the kiss, after he threads all ten fingers through Molly's hair, after Mary stealthily places the drinks on the table, after John comes back from the loo halted by his fiancée a good few metres away, and after the lip balm has been all but caressed off, Sherlock breaks the kiss. He pulls away slowly looking at Molly, eyes matching her dilated ones, for some sign of approval. Molly blushes furiously, confused and elated as to what had just happened.

"I, erm...John's out of the loo." she says and hurries off to occupy it.

Sherlock watches her go, taking no notice of the return of his other companions.

He leans back into the booth cushion, crossing his arms, smiling smugly to himself.

**A/N - So there's not much dialogue in this, which is strange for me. I hope it still seems in character. And actions speak louder than words, after all. Sorry it's another mistletoe kiss (I'm just so original, you know?), I'm a horrible sucker for them!**

**Hope you enjoyed the holiday fluff!**


End file.
